


BALLS!

by SupernaturallyEgocentric



Series: BALLS! [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 18:03:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 6,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12151932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturallyEgocentric/pseuds/SupernaturallyEgocentric
Summary: Sam is on the run with the Feds and every cop in the country snapping at his heels! Can you spell screwed?





	1. Chapter 1

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Bobby leaned down and patted Rumsfeld's bullet head. The big dog wagged his tail, grinning happily up at his master.

"Stupid dog," Bobby said fondly. Giving a dog a final pat, he went into the house, leaving the dog outside.

Going into the kitchen, he rummaged through the refrigerator and pulled out a container of chili. Sniffing it cautiously, he dumped it into a pan and set it on the stove over a low flame.

While waiting for dinner to warm, he flipped idly through the day's mail and stopped in surprise at an envelope postmarked Stanford.

Bobby,

My girlfriend Jess died three weeks ago. She burned on the ceiling. The police think I did it. They found out what happened to Mom, so they think I'm some kind of nut reenacting her death.

I ran before they could arrest me. Stupid, but I couldn't take the thought of being locked up.

Could you please let Dean and my dad know what happened? They changed their phone numbers so I can't call them myself. I'm sorry to bother you. I just thought maybe they'd want to know.

Thanks, Bobby.

Sam

Bobby dropped the letter onto the table. "Balls!"


	2. Chapter 2

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"What did you say?"

"You heard me," Bobby growled.

"But – where is he?" Dean gasped. "How can we reach him? I –"

"His letter said he tried to call you but you changed your number."

Dean was silent.

"Why didn't you two give your brother your new numbers?" Bobby demanded, wanting to reach through the phone line and shake the stunned hunter.

"Dad didn't – we didn't –"

"You left him out there on his own." Bobby said, astounded. He'd known the two older Winchesters were furious at Sam for leaving, but to cut him off completely? "Jesus."

"He left us."

"Yeah, well, now his girl's been murdered and the cops are after him," Bobby said wearily. "You think he deserves that?"

"Bobby . . . "

"You can feel guilty later, Dean. Focus. You know him better than anyone. Where would he go?"

There was a pause. "Pastor Jim, maybe. Or Caleb?"

"I'll call them. First I need to talk to your dad. Is he there?"

"Uh . . ."

Bobby frowned. "Spit it out, boy."

Dean's voice shook. "Dad went on a solo hunt a month ago. He's not answering his phone. I got no idea where he is."


	3. Chapter 3

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Two hard-faced uniformed policemen came into the bar.

From his position in the back of the bar near the pool tables, Sam saw them start to work their way through the crowded room. Moving slowly, no sudden movements, the hunter slid into the back hallway. Once in the dark hallway, hidden from the bar, he went to the back door and opened it a couple of inches, peering out cautiously.

There didn't seem to be anyone outside. He eased the door open and slipped outside, ghosting to the head of the alley. There was a patrol car out front but no officers in sight.

Sam was about to leave the alley and run to his car when the two officers came out of the bar. They walked to his car and stood in front of it, one of them talking into his radio. Another patrol car came up the block and double-parked next to his car. Two more officers got out and the four stood talking.

Fear a sharp pain in his chest, Sam edged back into the alley. It had no other outlet, except a ladder leading to the roof of the building next door. He started to climb.


	4. Chapter 4

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Patrolman Jim Mooney stopped in mid-sentence and looked across the street. "Someone's in that alley."

Moving at a fast trot, he and his partner went to the alley, the other two officers staying behind to keep an eye on the car and street.

The alley was empty. Mooney shrugged, then his partner nudged him and pointed upward. He looked up just in time to see a shadowy figure disappear onto the roof.

OOOOOOOOOO

At the back of the building, Sam slid down the last rungs of the ladder.

"Don't move!"

Sam froze, hands still gripping the ladder.

The officer, a dark young man with steady eyes, held his gun on Sam and spoke into his shoulder mike. "Bill, I've got the suspect on the south side of the building."

"I'm on my way!" the radio chattered back.

Desperate, not waiting for reinforcements to arrive, Sam spun and knocked the gun to the side. In the same swift motion he felled the officer with a brutal blow to the jaw. Not waiting to see if the man would stay down, he pounded for the head of the alley and sprinted down the street.

"Hold it! Freeze! Freeze!"

A shot rang out.


	5. Chapter 5

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"It's bad, Bobby," Caleb said. "Real bad."

"Figured it would be," Bobby said. "I appreciate you going out there. What'd you find out?"

"Sam was living with a woman named Jessica Moore. There was a fire one night and she died," Caleb said bluntly. "Sam tried to get her out, but the fire was too hot. He spent the next couple days in the hospital with burns to his hands and arms."

"Poor kid."

"The fire burned hot enough that the cops suspected arson," Caleb went on, "but they couldn't find any accelerant."

"Any idea why they fixed on Sam?"

"An anonymous caller did tell them about Mary, but the clincher was Sam beating the shit out of one of their investigators."

"Sam?"

Caleb's voice was tinged with amusement. "Guess the guy pissed him off.

"Did they arrest him?"

"Nah. Couldn't find him. Kid's in the wind."

"What a damned mess."

"One more thing," Caleb said.

"What?" Bobby said warily.

"Sam and the girl? They were engaged."

Bobby winced. "Crap." He heard Rumsfeld give a short bark outside and then there was a tap at the door. "Hold on, Caleb."

Bobby opened the front door. 

Sam fell into his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

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Heading west on I-80, Dean's phone started blaring Deep Purple's 'Smoke on the Water'. 

Digging it out of his pocket, he barked, "Yeah?"

"Where the hell are you?"

Dean frowned. "Bobby?"

"Where are you?"

"Just outside Des Moines, headin' your way."

"Drive faster," Bobby ordered grimly.

"What – is Sam there?"

"Yeah, he's here and he's been goddamned shot!"

Dean dropped his cell and he cursed, fumbling to pick the phone up from the floor. The Impala swerved across the middle line before he retrieved the cell and regained control of the car. "How bad, Bobby?"

"He'll live," Bobby said tersely.

"Bobby!" Dean barked.

"I said he'll live." At a savage snarl from Dean, Bobby relented. "He took a bullet in the right shoulder. He dug it out before he got to me, but it was infected. So were his hands."

"Wait." Dean felt bombarded. "What the hell happened to Sam's hands?"

"They got singed in the fire that killed his girlfriend."

"Jesus."

"I pumped him full of antibiotics. He's sleeping."

"When he wakes up, tell him I'll be there soon."

"That's probably not a good idea."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because he told me not to call you."


	7. Chapter 7

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Sam stiffened as the bedroom door opened and Dean walked in, Bobby right behind him.

"Damn it, Bobby!"

"Yeah, I know," Bobby interrupted. "But me not calling Dean would have been as dumb as – oh, I don't know, someone not giving their kid brother their new phone number." He shot Dean a pointed glare and the young hunter flushed.

Mouth tight, Sam slowly levered himself up into a sitting position, not wanting them to see how weak he was. "Anyway - thanks for patching me up."

"No problem." Bobby sighed. He needed sleep but it didn't look like he was going to be getting it any time soon. "You two idjits want some coffee?"

Both boys nodded and mumbled thank you's.

As Bobby left, Dean took a tentative step closer to his brother. "Sam, what happened? Are you -"

Sam looked at him. "I called you for weeks, Dean. For _weeks _. You didn't answer. You never called back. Then you changed your number." His face darkened, thinking of the dozens of unanswered calls, remembering the fear and desperation behind them.__

__"Sam, I'm sor –"_ _

__"You don't get to say that," Sam said savagely. "Why the hell are you here?"_ _


	8. Chapter 8

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"Bobby told me about Jessica. I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said quietly.

"Why?" Sam said bitterly. "You didn't care about her while she was alive. Why should you care now she's dead?"

Dean flinched but nodded. "I deserve that."

"Fucking right you do," Sam hissed. "I don't want you here. Just go!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean said stubbornly. "I made a mistake. I'm gonna make it right."

"Jessica is dead! How the hell can you make that right?" Furious, Sam lurched up from the bed but stumbled and went to his knees, hissing in pain when the movement jarred his injured shoulder.

Dean helped him up. Sam pushed him away and then, swaying, what little color he had left leaving his face, collapsed back onto the bed.

Dean could see blood coming through the bandage under Sam's shirt. Ignoring his brother's attempts to push him away, Dean opened Sam's shirt and examined his wound.

"It's not bad," he said matter-of-factly. "A stitch popped open, that's all." He closed Sam's shirt. "You okay?"

"Damn you." At the end of his strength, Sam stared at him, hazel eyes bright with unshed tears. "I needed you, Dean," he whispered brokenly. "I needed you."


	9. Chapter 9

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Hearing Sam's whisper, Bobby stopped in the doorway, not wanting to intrude. Sam lay on the bed, tears trickling down his face. Dean sat beside him, his hand not quite touching Sam's.

"That night – " Sam's voice was raw - "Jess – she was pinned to the ceiling. Her stomach - her blood was dripping down on me. I couldn't move and then she was burning and I couldn't move." His bandaged hands clenched into fists. "My fault. My fault!"

"Sam, no -"

Eyes a little wild, Sam laughed. "Jess was dead the minute she met me. We're cursed! You, me, Dad - everything we touch fucking dies!"

Not liking the sound of near-hysteria in Sam's voice, Bobby went in, putting the coffee down on the bureau.

"You okay, Sam?"

"Sorry." Sam flushed and wiped away his tears. "Bobby, I - sorry."

"You haven't done a damned thing to be sorry about." He laid a hand on Sam's forehead. It was warm. "You just need to sleep."

Sam closed his eyes, mouth twisting in pain. "I don't want to sleep " His breath caught. "I don't want to dream."

"Sam?" Dean said hesitantly. "I'll stay with you. If you want."


	10. Chapter 10

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Next morning, yawning, Bobby shuffled to the spare room and peeked in at the boys. They were both still sleeping, Dean stretched out next to Sam on top of the covers. The old man smiled at the sight and continued downstairs.

He started a pot of coffee and while it was brewing mixed up a big batch of pancake batter, knowing the boys would be starving when they woke. Just as the coffee finished brewing, he heard Rumsfeld barking outside and went to the front door.

The dog had two suits cornered next to their car, a black sedan that Bobby easily recognized as the kind of car Feds rent when they hit an airport.

One of the suits looked up, frowning. "You want to call your dog off?"

Bobby snorted. "Depends. What do you want?"

The other suit held up a badge. "I'm Agent Kilgore. This is Agent Vonnegut. FBI."

"And?"

"If you're Robert Singer, we'd like to talk to you about Sam Winchester."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"

The two agents exchanged glances. "We need to speak to him."

"Why come to me?"

Vonnegut smiled thinly. "He named you as his emergency contact at Stanford University."


	11. Chapter 11

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"Crap." Dean stared through the curtained bedroom window at the federal agents in the yard below. "How did they know to come here?"

After watching for a minute, he marginally relaxed. If they had a warrant, they'd be inside the house already; they must not know Sam was here. Bobby was doing a lot of head shaking – no way they were coming in without paper – but if they were suspicious, they might set up surveillance on the house. That would make getting Sam out of here a bitch.

Also, Dean knew the Feds had taken note of the Impala parked out front and would run the plates when they left. It wouldn't do them any good - the plates were registered under a phony name and address - still, he didn't like being under an official microscope.

Sam gave a little groan in the bed behind him. Turning, Dean saw his brother swing his legs over the side of the bed and sit still, holding his head.

"Headache?"

Sam nodded shortly and hauled himself to his feet, swaying slightly once he got there. Dean took an anxious step forward but stopped when Sam looked at him with a distinctly unfriendly expression.


	12. Chapter 12

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Sam snagged some clean clothes from his duffel and walked past Dean into the hall. Dean heard the bathroom door close and, a minute later, the shower.

Sagging, he sat down on the bed and lowered his head into his hands. He heard the sound of a car outside as it drove out of the yard, but right now he didn't really give a shit.

What, had he been thinking that things between him and Sam would be back to normal now? That all would be forgiven?

Fat chance.

Dean saying nothing to Sam when John told him not to come back, weeks of unreturned calls, not giving Sam his new cell number – these betrayals had culminated in Jessica's death.

He knew what their father would say. Sam had left them, deserted them - abandoned their holy cause. If he had stayed, none of this would have happened. Jessica would still be alive.

That was crap. Sam knew it. Dean knew it. John knew it, somewhere under the layer of bullshit he protected himself with. Sam had just wanted more. More than blood and death and an early grave.

Well, now Dean wanted more, too. He wanted his brother back.


	13. Chapter 13

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Sam got out of the shower, dried off and dressed and tried very hard not to think. It worked, mostly, until he caught sight of himself in the steamy mirror.

Caught by his reflection, he leaned in close and looked into his eyes. "Murderer," he whispered and started to shake.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean followed the smell of pancakes into the kitchen and looked over Bobby's shoulder. "Well, I see my breakfast. What are you and Sam having?"

Amused, Bobby pushed him back. "Go tell your brother breakfast is ready."

"He's taking a shower."

Bobby cocked an ear toward the ceiling. "Shower's off."

"He'll be down."

Dean's expressionless tone caught Bobby's attention. "You two have words?"

"He didn't say a thing. He didn't have to."

"From what I saw this morning –"

"He was unconscious, Bobby," Dean interrupted. "The minute he woke up he hated my guts again."

"Dean?"

They looked up to see Sam in the doorway, barefoot and hair still damp. "I don't hate you." His voice was eerily calm. "You were right not to call me back. Dad was right."

Alarmed, Dean stepped towards his brother. "Sam . . . "

"It's my fault Jessica's dead. I killed her."


	14. Chapter 14

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Bobby turned pale. "Sam, what are you talking about?"

"I dreamed about Jess dying for weeks before it happened. I saw her pinned to the ceiling. I saw the blood. I saw her burn."

"Sammy, no," Dean whispered.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I shouldn't have blamed you," Sam said. "It was my fault. I wanted to believe they were just dreams, but it was a lie. I knew they were real."

Bobby stepped toward him. "Sam," he said huskily. "I wish you'd called me, boy."

"It wouldn't have made any difference," Sam answered serenely. "It was too late. Dad explained it to me."

"What?" Dean took Sam by the arm and forced his brother to look at him. "What exactly did Dad explain to you?"

"The demon killed Mom because of me," Sam explained in childlike cadences. "As long as I stayed with Dad, he could stop me from hurting anyone else. But when I left –"

"Sam, that is bullshit!"

"Mom's dead. Jessica's dead," Sam said as if that settled the matter. A spasm of pain briefly shadowed his face, then it disappeared and he smiled. "I didn't want to believe it, but Dad's right about me. I'm to blame."


	15. Chapter 15

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"Your daddy's a damned fool," Bobby said firmly. "It's not your fault your girl died."

Sam smiled again, but his hazel eyes were starting to look glassy and it was clear he hadn't accepted what Bobby had said. "I'm sorry I brought this crap here, Bobby," he said, voice faltering. "I should've – shouldn't have come. I'm gonna go now."

He turned and went back into the living room, and crossed to the front door, both older men right behind him.

"Sam, you've got no shoes on!" Dean said. "Where the hell are you going?"

"I don't know," Sam looked down at his feet. "Where'd I put my shoes?" He wandered toward the stairs. Dean and Bobby exchanged concerned glances and followed him up, where he wandered up and down the hall for several minutes before finally hitting the spare room and finding his shoes.

As Sam was sitting on the bed, struggling with his shoe laces, Dean sat down on the bed next to him, Bobby watching from the door. "Sam?"

"Huh?" Yawning, Sam looked up at him and then vaguely back down at his shoes.

"Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"Dude, what's going on!" Dean exclaimed. "What the hell is wrong with you?"


	16. Chapter 16

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Sam stared vaguely into space. "The cops are after me," he mumbled. "They think I killed Jess." 

His eyes wandered to Bobby. "Can't go back to school. Won't go back to Dad." His head sank onto his chest and he slurred. "Rather be dead . . . "

With a muttered curse, Bobby came in and thrust Dean aside, putting his hands on Sam's shoulders and looking into his eyes. Sam stared blankly back at him, pupils dilated.

"Damn it, boy, what did you do?"

Sam focused for a moment on Bobby and then his eyes tracked slowly over to Dean. "Screwed up, Dean." His mouth trembled. "Sorry. Sorry." He sagged into Bobby's hands.

"Damn it!" Bobby pushed Sam down onto the bed. "Stay with him!" he said to Dean and quickly left the room, hurrying to the bathroom.

"Sam?" Bewildered, Dean stared down at Sam, who stared up at him groggily. "Sam?"

"Dean . . . " Sam's eyes flickered shut.

A few seconds later, Bobby pounded back into the room, fear on his face and a sleeping pill bottle in his hand.

"I just refilled this last week. It's empty now. The kid swallowed the whole damn bottle!"


	17. Chapter 17

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"Swear to God, Sam, you ever pull anything like this again, I'll kill you myself!"

"Dean, tired," Sam groaned.

"Shut up," Dean grunted, hauling Sam on yet another circuit of the first floor. "If Bobby says stay on your feet and walk, you stay on your feet and walk!"

With an incoherent protest, Sam stumbled and went to his knees. Mouth set, Dean pulled him back up. "Bobby! Where's that coffee!"

Bobby came out of the kitchen carrying a large steaming cup. "Set him down for a minute," he ordered.

Once Sam was settled on a chair, Bobby held the cup to his lips. Sam tried to pull away but   
Dean held him still as Bobby poured the bracing liquid down his throat.

When the cup was empty, they hauled him to his feet again and, one on each side of him, started pacing through the house again.

"How much longer?" Dean panted.

Bobby, grey with exhaustion, glanced at his watch. "Making him puke up the pills helped. I think he's good. We'll keep him up another hour, then let him crash. Have to keep an eye on him, though."

Rumsfeld started barking outside.

Bobby groaned. "Jesus Christ, what now?"


	18. Chapter 18

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Rumsfeld's barking was now joined by pounding at the door.

"I don't know who it is," Bobby said tersely, "but we don't want them seeing Sam. Let's get him into the kitchen."

He and Dean hauled the slightly more aware Sam into the kitchen and sat him onto a chair. 

"Get some more coffee into him," Bobby ordered, and took care to shut the kitchen door behind him as he strode to the front door.

When he opened the door, John Winchester, scowling, demanded, "Is he here?"

Bobby, eyes narrow, answered coldly, "Is who here?"

"Sam!" John jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the Impala. "I know damned well Dean's here."

Bobby couldn't think of a single thing to say to the man that didn't include screw you or drop dead. So, deciding to just skip that and get to the fun part, he sent his fist crashing into John's jaw, sending the man staggering off the porch and down to the ground. Rumsfeld leapt forward and stood over him, growling.

John glared up at him. "What the hell was that for?"

"If you don't know, you're a bigger fool than I already took you for," Bobby said contemptuously.

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The remaining chapters will be posted later tonight.


	19. Chapter 19

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Even through the closed door, Dean could hear his father's menacing rumble.

A whisper brought his attention back to Sam. "Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Sorry."

"I know," Dean said quietly. "Just don't do it again, okay?"

Sam didn't answer. Dean knelt beside his chair and took Sam by the chin, forcing his trembling brother to look at him. "You hear me?"

Sam nodded shakily. "Okay." There was a bellow from the front of the house and he flinched, cowering in the chair.

Dean's mouth tightened and he put a gentling hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'll be right back. You wait here."

When Dean got out front, it was even odds as to who was growling the loudest: his father, Bobby, or Rumsfeld. Bobby was blocking John from entering the house, Rumsfeld was keeping him from retreating to his truck and John was red-faced and furious.

"Sam's my son, not yours!"

Dean crossed the yard quickly. Skirting around Bobby, he threw a quick right cross and hit his father in the nose. John staggered back, tripped over Rumsfeld and fell to the ground, again.  
Holding a hand to his bleeding nose, he raised shocked eyes to his eldest son.

"Asshole," Dean said succinctly.


	20. Chapter 20

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John rose slowly, keeping an eye on his irate son.

Struggling to control himself, Dean said to Bobby, "Go stay with Sam, will you?"

"Sure, kid." Bobby grinned mockingly at John. "Looks like you got this handled." Leaving 

Rumsfeld for back-up, he went back into the house.

Fists clenched, Dean demanded, "Why did you tell Sam it was his fault his girl died?"

John's mouth tightened. "I didn't say that! I just said if he'd stayed with us, she wouldn't have gotten in the way and –"

"Sam tried to kill himself last night, Dad," Dean interrupted brutally.

John gasped, the color leaving his tanned face. Grabbing Dean's arm, he demanded, "Is he all right?"

Dean snorted. "What the hell do you care?"

John's grip tightened. "Dean, he isn't - ?"

"He's alive," Dean answered grudgingly. "But he's pretty fucking far from all right."


	21. Chapter 21

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"You know what really pisses me off?" Dean hissed, getting in John's face. "Not just the fact that you knew what happened to Jessica, and didn't tell me –"

"Dean –"

"Shut up! Not only did you not tell me that Sam's girlfriend burned to death on her ceiling like our mother; you told me we needed to change our phone numbers after Sam told you what happened."

John suddenly looked less angry and a lot more wary.

"Yeah, Dad. I spent most of last night trying to keep Sam alive, so I had a lot of freaking time to figure it out."

"It's not what you think, Dean. How could I know he'd pull something stupid like this!"

"His girlfriend dies, the cops are sniffing after him and you tell him it's his fault! Then you cut off all contact! What the hell did you think would happen! What did you think Sam would do when everything he cared about was either dead or gone?"

John flushed angrily. "I thought he'd come back to us! I thought he'd realize that he doesn't fit in that world, that he belongs to us!" He stopped, breathing hard. "I wanted Sam back!"


	22. Chapter 22

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Sam could hear Bobby rattling around behind him, shuttling from the refrigerator to the stove as he got breakfast together. The sound of yelling from out front had quieted down. That meant his father would be in here soon. Dean wouldn't be able to keep him out. No one could stand against Dad.

His eyes floated shut again and he jerked them open.

So tired.

No.

Sleep was dangerous. Nightmares waited there. And no way to escape them.

When he'd taken the pills he'd fallen into a beautiful bottomless nothingness. No guilt, no anger, no fear. No Jess bleeding, screaming, burning to death in front of his eyes. The only bad thing was, it hadn't lasted anywhere near long enough. Forever. That would have been long enough.

His hand fumbled in his jeans pocket and he pulled out a photograph and gazed at it. My sweet Jess.

"She was beautiful," Bobby said quietly, standing beside him. His own memories and tears clouding his vision, he set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Sam. "See if you can eat. Then maybe you can get some sleep."

Sam lurched to his feet, the photograph falling from his hands.


	23. Chapter 23

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Bobby sprang forward and caught Sam as his legs gave and he toppled toward the floor. He managed to get the boy back onto the chair, staring anxiously into his face as Sam trembled and shook. "Do you need Dean?"

Sam shook his head. "No!" He tried again to get up. Again fell back onto the chair. "He can't help." He lowered his face into his hands with a strangled moan; then the smell from breakfast suddenly hit him and he gagged.

"Oh, hell!" Bobby hauled him up again and got him to the sink. Sam coughed and heaved but his stomach was already empty from earlier when they'd made him puke up the sleeping pills; all that came up now was bile and a little blood.

"Can't sleep, Bobby," he groaned, hanging onto the sink. "Don't make me sleep." His legs started to fold and he went to the floor again.

Not able to stop him from going down this time, Bobby managed to soften his fall and laid him out on the floor, taking his jacket off and laying it over Sam's quaking body.

"Damn it!" Bobby ran to the front door. "Dean! Get your ass in here!"


	24. Chapter 24

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"I'm sorry, Dean," Bobby said. "I should've seen his fever was back."

Staring down at Sam, finally asleep, but by no means peacefully, Dean shook his head. "Not your fault."

Bobby read Dean's face and snorted. "Not your fault either, boy. We've had kind of a lot goin' on."

Dean nodded and dropped down onto the chair next to the bed.

Yawning, Bobby looked out the window at the yard below. John was leaning against his truck, staring at the house. "What are we gonna do about him?"

"No idea." Dean leaned over and pushed an errant lock of hair back from Sam's sweaty forehead. "I just know Sam's not ready to deal with him, even without the fever."

"Hard to believe even John could be that much of a damned fool."

Dean smiled wryly. "Dad's always had his own special kind of tunnel vision." His smile faltered. "I can't put it all on him, though."

"Dean." Bobby waited until the boy looked back at him. "The most important thing now is to get Sam better. The rest of it can wait." He heard the sound of a car and looked outside again. "Well, I guess quiet time is over."


	25. Chapter 25

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"Bobby Singer!" Sheriff Bud Cortland smiled. "May I have a word?"

Bobby flicked a glance outside and saw John getting into his truck. "Yeah, sure. Come on in."

He ushered the sheriff into his study and waved him into a chair. "What can I do for you?"

"I had a visit from the Feds yesterday," Cortland began. "I'm sure you don't need me telling you why."

"Nope."

"Thing is, boys in Pierre found an abandoned car this morning. Turns out it was stolen in   
Reno, just about the time your boy Winchester assaulted that police officer." He cocked an eyebrow. "Funny kinda coincidence, that car showing up so close to your place."

Bobby remained silent.

Cortland studied him for a moment. "I haven't forgotten what you did for me last year, Bobby," he went on. "I don't figure you for a man who'd harbor a murderer." He shrugged and got to his feet. "Anyway."

Bobby ushered the sheriff outside. John's truck was gone. Starting his car, Cortland said quietly, "Soon as they find out about that car, the Feds'll be back. And when they do, they'll have a warrant."

Mouth tightening, Bobby nodded and watched as Cortland drove away.

"Balls!"


	26. Chapter 26

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Dean was standing at the top of the stairs when Bobby came up. "What's going on?

"We gotta get Sam outta here," answered Bobby wearily. "They found the car he dumped in Pierre. We're gonna have Feds crawling up our ass any minute."

Dean went swiftly back into the bedroom and leaned over his brother's bed. "Sam! Come on, buddy, wake up!" As Sam started to stir, Dean said to Bobby, "Where's Dad?"

"Gone."

Dean stilled, then turned back to Sam, who had opened his eyes and was staring up at him blearily. "Hey, Sammy, you awake?"

"Dean." Sam's eyes started to drift shut again and Dean said sharply, "Sam, wake up!"

Sam forced his eyes open, fighting to stay awake. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Not your fault, man. Wish you could rest, but the freaking cops are coming. We gotta go."

Ten minutes later, Bobby was watching the Impala disappear down the road. Thirty minutes after that, he'd cleaned up any evidence that Sam had ever been in the house.

An hour after that, he was out in the yard working when the Feds and two highway patrol cars roared up his driveway and piled out, guns and warrant ready.


	27. Chapter 27

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Dean drove until he hit St. Louis. He found a rundown motel in a less than savory part of town, and left his brother sleeping in the backseat of the Impala while he went to check in.

That done, Dean went back to the car and found Sam awake and sitting up, looking very confused.

Dean poked his head in the back door. "Hey!"

"Dean?" Frowning, Sam looked around the parking lot. "Where are we?"

"St. Louis."

"What?" Sam's eyes widened. "Why are we in St. Louis?"

Dean grinned. "Because that's as far as I could get without falling asleep at the wheel. You   
okay?"

Sam thought about it for a moment. "Shoulder's stiff, but yeah, I'm good," he said, sounding surprised.

"Come on, then. I got us a room and we need to talk before I pass out."

Sam stiffened. "What about?" he said warily.

"Jesus, Sammy, what don't we need to talk about? You leaving me and Dad. Me and Dad screwing you. But first, how the hell we're gonna keep your ass out of jail." Dean raised an eyebrow sardonically. "You assaulted a police officer. Two of them, if you count the arson investigator. Ring any bells?"


	28. Chapter 28

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Face blank, Bobby watched as the cops and feds rolled out of his driveway. None of them looked happy. He guessed it must be hard, coming to bust a dangerous fugitive and ending up with nothing more than one old man and a lazy dog.

He sighed. Truth be told, he wasn't happy either. His house looked like a tornado had ripped through it, he'd been threatened with arrest by jackbooted storm troopers, and now he'd have to spend who knows how long worrying about Sam and Dean before either of them remembered to call and let him know they were okay. Idjits.

He went back inside, Rumsfeld staring mournfully after him, and sat down at his desk. He'd managed to hide all his "questionable" items in his priest's hole before the law arrived. Should he bring it all back out now, continue, business as usual? Or would the cops be back for more, trawling through his house with all the finesse of a rabid dog in heat?

Bobby sighed, thinking about all the turmoil and stress of the last week, and how quiet his house would be now.

He hoped his boys would be coming back soon.


	29. Chapter 29

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Dean pushed Sam down onto the bed. "Take your shirt off. I want to check your shoulder."

Obediently, Sam removed his shirt, moving slowly. His shoulder was stiff.

Dean examined the healing wound, nodding in satisfaction. "Bobby did a good job." Rewrapping Sam's shoulder, he said awkwardly, "Sam, listen. I'm – brother, I'm sorry."

Sam swallowed hard. "Me too," he answered¸ voice shaking a little. "Dean, I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't want to leave you. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I just – I had to get out."

Dean felt again the familiar pain of the night Sam left for Stanford. He tried to hide it, but Sam saw and grabbed his hand. "It wasn't you, Dean. You have to know that."

"It's okay. I know," Dean said huskily. He cleared his throat, tried to smile. "Decision time, Sammy. What do you want to do?"

"The cops aren't gonna go away, Dean. They think –"

"Screw the cops. I need to know what you want to do. Do you want to go back to Stanford?"

"No. Even if I could, I wouldn't want to." Sam's eyes flared, hardened. "I've got unfinished business with that yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch."


	30. Chapter 30

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"Well, I'll be damned," Bobby smiled. "It's only been a week since you dragged your asses out of here and you're calling me already." He laughed as Dean said something obscene. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. How's your brother?"

"..."

"You keep an eye on his shoulder or next thing you know, his fever will be back."

"..."

"No, my friend told me they left town."

"..."

"Yeah, no kidding. That kinda company I don't need."

There was a knock at the door. Bobby looked through the peephole. His brows drew together in a frown. "Listen, boy, I gotta go. I'll call you back later." He flipped the cell closed and opened the door.

"Can I come in?" John asked.

Bobby toyed with the idea of punching him again but instead sighed and led him into the study. "So where'd you disappear to?"

John ignored the question. "I spoke with a friend who has connections in the F.B.I. They Feds have warrants out on Sam, not just for his girlfriend's death and the assaults, but for a death in Reno the same night he was there." His eyes were bleak. "A young woman died. Identical circumstances to what happened in Palo Alto."


	31. Chapter 31

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"What?"

"It's not just that," John interrupted. "They haven't let it out to the public yet, but there were a string of other fires, four of them over a six month period, all in a 200-mile radius around Stanford. All young, single women, all burned to death - no remains, no accelerant."

Dumbfounded, Bobby stared at him, then lowered himself into the chair behind the desk and pointed John into the chair opposite. He pulled a bottle out of the desk drawer, along with a couple of glasses, and poured them each a stiff one. "Holy crap."

They both drained their glasses quickly and Bobby refilled them.

John closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead slowly. He was exhausted and had a headache that had been kicking his ass for the last three days. "Sam's in trouble. Big trouble. They've got a BOLO out on him all across the country and a task force with his name all over it. Any cop sees him, he's screwed. And it's only a matter of time before some slick reporter picks up on it and ties it all together."

"Then his face will be all over the newspapers. And television," Bobby finished. "Christ."


	32. Chapter 32

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"No, Bobby, he's in the shower." Dean frowned, hearing the stress and tension in his friend's voice. "What's wrong?" As he listened to Bobby's long and involved explanation, the color slowly drained from his face and he sat down heavily on the bed, raising a shaking hand to his face. "Jesus. Bobby."

"Dean. Dean!" Bobby's voice cut through the fog clouding his mind. "Focus, boy! You two have to hole up. Keep Sam off the street. No hunting, no bars, nothing until we figure out what's going on."

"I – okay," Dean stammered. "Okay. Bobby – what am I gonna tell Sam?"

"Tell me about what?"

Dean twisted around. Sam stood in the door of the bathroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, damp hair hanging down into his eyes. His easy expression faded into a frown at the look on Dean's face. "Dean?"

"I'll talk to you later, Bobby." Dean closed his cell and rose. "Sam –"

"What is it?"

"You better put some clothes on. You're gonna want to be dressed for this."

Turning away, Sam dropped his towel and quickly pulled on some jeans. Pushing his hair back from his face, he faced his brother. "Okay. Spill it."


	33. Chapter 33

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"They think I what?" Sam's voice was incredulous.

"Come on, don't make me say it again," Dean groaned. "It was hard enough the first time."

Sam turned away and went to his duffel. He pulled out a shirt and some socks, retrieved his   
shoes from the bathroom, and finished dressing. Then he sat down on the bed and stared at the floor.

"Sammy?" Dean said tentatively.

"Yeah."

"You okay? 'Cause we're gonna find that demon and kill him. We will."

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"What? Of course it matters!"

"Even when we find him, can we take him to the cops?" Sam asked. "Can we prove he killed them?"

Dean was silent.

"A couple months ago Jess and I were together. We were going to get married, make a family. That's gone now. She's gone."

"Sam –"

"Do I want that bastard dead?" Sam's voice was dark with rage. "Fuck, yeah! But it won't change anything."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I'll lie low, like Bobby said. For a while."

"And then?"

"I'm going hunting. But not with Dad. Never again."

Dean tried to keep his voice level. "Will you hunt with me, Sam?"


	34. Chapter 34

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Bobby's cell buzzed, indicating a picture mail had come in. Seeing that it was from Dean, he opened it and grinned. The picture was of Sam and Dean, both leaning casually against the Impala and smiling into the camera. Both were deeply tanned, courtesy of the strong Mexican sun, and they looked good, though Sam had a hardness around the eyes that Bobby wasn't used to seeing.

The two brothers had been out of the country for nearly five months. The furor from Sam's being outed as a "serial killer" had lasted nearly three of those. The Feds had come back twice and Sam's name was on the FBI's Most Wanted list, though they didn't seem to know that he and Dean were travelling together.

You coming back? he texted.

In a minute, the answer came back. Not yet. Need to work on my tan.

Bobby laughed and studied the picture for another minute before stowing the cell back in his pocket. Well, at least he'd be able to tell that sad-sack John he'd heard from them again, and that they were okay.

Damn, but he missed his boys.

Sighing, Bobby whistled for Rumsfeld and went back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm moving my work from fanfiction.net over here. The next one to come over will be Balls 2! Sam and Dean's Mexican Adventure. Be over here by this weekend.


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